


Paints and Petals

by starsmahogany



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Painting, Post-Mockingjay, toastbabies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 17:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16877235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsmahogany/pseuds/starsmahogany
Summary: It's almost Katniss' birthday, and her daughter wants to do something special, something that requires her father's artistic expertise.Post-Mockingjay in Peeta's POV. Originally posted to Tumblr in 2014.





	Paints and Petals

The picture before me slowly comes to life as colors are added, my paint brush dancing and swirling across the canvas. My brow furrows in concentration as I focus on the small details.

The small ripples of the flowing stream. The vibrant petals of a wildflower. The rough bark of a tree. And most importantly, the poignant green shade of the trees, a color that has a deep meaning within my heart.

My abilities slowly came back to me after I began to heal. Painting by painting, draft by draft, I slowly learned to put the passionate feelings and positive memories within my brain to paper again. It’s therapeutic, calming. And it’s one of the few hobbies I find myself occupied with whenever I have free time.

Sighing and continuing onward, I dip my brush into a cup to clean it, allowing the paint to drift into the water and create a psychedelic effect on the surface. I watch the fading color, intrigued and smiling slightly to myself, before wiping the brush on a small towel and pressing on.

I hesitate for a moment, staring at the small sketch that lies in the center of the painting. Drawn out in pencil, it’s very faint, but is definitely the most important part of the work. And it’s also the most important part of my life.

Katniss.

Tomorrow is her birthday. Though she insists I don’t have to do anything for her, I always feel obligated. It’s her own special day. It’s the day the world was blessed with her existence. And naturally, I have to thank her for being part of my life, and for everything she has granted me with.

Forgiveness, affection, life, children…

I actually look forward to each and every day now, because of her. She helped me recover and helped me put a new outlook on life in a way no one else could. And I cannot thank her enough, nor can I tell her how much I care for her, and love her.

God, I love her.

I’m so preoccupied in my thoughts that I don’t notice the door to my studio open, and a small form waddle up beside me.

“Daddy?”

I blink hard to rid myself of my reveries, and turn towards the source of the voice, smiling when my eyes connect with the shining, inquisitive blue ones of my daughter.

Willow was born three years ago, a day I will certainly never forget. The moment she came into our lives, Katniss and I knew we were changed forever; we truly became a healed family. It was the start of a new life in multiple retrospects. And I absolutely fell in love the moment I became acquainted with my daughter.

She’s like me in many ways. Big, sapphire eyes. Her nose wrinkles when she giggles. Curious about the world around her. Has a steady hand.

But she’s also so much like her mother. Long, brown, luscious strands of hair. The same little scowl of discontent. Intelligent. Graceful on her feet. Beautiful. Lovely. My whole world.

I adore them both. And I don’t know what I’d be without them.

“Daddy,” Willow says a little more pressingly to get my attention, placing her small hands on my knee and pushing her petite face up towards me.

I shake my head slightly, getting out of my thoughts completely and focusing completely on my daughter. I smile warmly at her, and pivot slightly in my chair so I’m facing her.

“Hey, sweetie,” I say gently, my hand finding the top of her head and gently ruffling her soft hairs, “What have you been up to?”

Her nose wrinkles in disgust, and I have to bite back a chuckle; she looks so much like Katniss when she does that.

“Mommy was doin’ something with scurwels,” she huffs, still leaning on my knee with both hands, “She said dey were guts. And it was icky, Daddy.”

“Oh? You don’t like her gutting squirrels?” I laugh, and she quickly shakes her head, “That’s okay. Between you and me, I don’t like it too much either…”

“Are you hiding then, Daddy?”

I laugh a little harder, and stoop my hands under her armpits, gently lifting her up and into my lap.

“No, you little goose." 

When she cocks her head back slightly to give me a look of disbelief, a chuckle escapes me yet again, and I press a kiss to her head.

"Okay  _maybe_ , but more because I don’t want your mom to see this yet,” I reply softly, gesturing to the painting that’s laid out before me on the table.

Willow follows my gaze, and immediately her eyes go wide. She pulls herself up, standing on my lap as she looks over my work in awe, her curious stare tracking every detail.

After a moment of silence, her high pitched voice chirps up again.

"Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you teach me to do this for Mommy’s birthday?”

The fact that my three year old remembers her mother’s birthday is extraordinary to me. Granted, I have been telling her about it a lot, but the care and sincerity laced in her question causes my heart to skip a beat, and my smile to grow even wider.

“You want to learn how to paint, honey bun?”

She bobs her head up and down enthusiastically, and I cannot help but grin.

“Alright. Well let’s see…”

I shift the unfinished painting out the way, and lay out a sheet of pure, white paper before us. I then grab a smaller brush than the one I was using originally, and allow my daughter to take it from my grasp.

“What did you want to make for her?”

Willow ponders this for a moment, her brows furrowing and her mother’s scowl slipping on to her face. When she continues to be silent, I ask gently again.

“What does she like, Willow?”

Again, she goes into thought, but this time gives an answer after a short period of time.

“You!” she says gleefully, and I throw my head back with mirth.

“I guess that’s true,” I chuckle, “But I’m sure she sees enough of me. What else, pumpkin?”

“Um…” she thinks, “Flowers?”

Immediately a single image comes into the head at the mentioning of that idea.

Primrose.

I had already included some in my own painting, and was even planning on a special surprise the morning of Katniss’ birthday. So my daughter’s idea would fit wonderfully.

“Perfect,” I reply, ruffling her hair before inching the paper closer, “Do you want to try by yourself or do you want me to help you first?”

“Um….Y-you help,” she murmurs shyly, and I chuckle, reaching forward with my hand and softly wrapping it around hers, encasing it and the paintbrush.

Ever so gently, I guide her motions with my hand, dipping the paintbrush into water to moisten it, and then picking a soft green shade for the stem.

Talking to her and explaining the process as I go along, I guide her hand over the paper so the brush is in contact with the surface, and flick upwards in a single, smooth stroke, creating the stem.

Dabbing the brush in green once again, I guide her hand in sweeping motions, creating the leaves on the stem.

And once this is complete, I release her hand from my grasp.

She gives me a startled look, pivoting her head back to look at me as she continues to hold the brush, and I smile reassuringly in return.

“It wouldn’t be as special if I did all the work. Why don’t you try the petals on your own?”

Willow pouts for a moment, looking at the brush, then the stem, before gazing at me again.

“But…I’m not as good as you, Daddy.”

“Nonsense. You’re wonderful,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the button of her nose, “And your mom will love it. I promise you.”

She hesitates, looking disbelieving once again.

“…Really?”

“Yes, really,” I chuckle, pointing towards the yellow paint, “You can do it, sweetheart.”

After a moment’s pause and a short, stubborn huff, Willow finally reaches her brush into the paint, and starts work on the petals. She swirls and twirls the vibrant color across the paper, adding circular dabs atop the stem, and giving the flower life.

I smile with pride, watching her every move intently. She’s already so passionate about it, and so artistic that I feel my heart soaring within me.

She adds a few more dabs before sitting back, looking at me for approval.

“Is it…good?”

“Yes, it’s beautiful. Just like you,” I reply, moving forward to nuzzle my nose against her cheek.

She squeals and bats me away with her tiny, toddler hands, and I laugh, easing her off of my lap.

“Alright. I’m going to hang on to it to keep it safe; we wouldn’t want anything to happen to it. But I’ll give it to you first thing tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. Love you, Daddy,” she murmurs with a grin as she begins to hobble out of my studio, and I cannot help but mirror her expression.

“Love you too.”

xXx

I make plans to wake up early the next morning, as I want to be up before Katniss is in order to surprise her. And thankfully, I’m able to do just that.

I wake to see the first pink rays of sunlight peaking in through the open window of our bedroom, and turn over slowly to glance at my wife. The sight brings a smile to my face.

She’s fast asleep, her grey eyes hidden away from view, and her supple lips poised open ever so slightly. Her long, dark strands of hair are falling into a gentle cascade over the pillow, and her hands are brought up near her face, clenched into fists as she slumbers.

She’s absolutely breath taking. And I fight the strong urge to kiss her and caress her all over. But today, I have different motives on my mind.

Using the utmost care not to rouse her from sleep, I roll slowly out of bed, and tiptoe out of our bedroom, throwing one last glance at her to ensure she’s still sound asleep.

Once the coast is clear, I ease myself down the hallway, and into my studio, grabbing the paintings that were worked on yesterday. I then travel into the kitchen, setting the paintings on the table, and getting out a few cooking utensils.

Cheese buns are going to be for breakfast without question.

Smiling to myself, I work a little more hastily than usual, wanting to get the pastries in the oven before Katniss begins to stir. I throw the ingredients together into a bowl, and mix them into a malleable dough. I beat the mixture and fold it repeatedly, getting it soft and smooth, before adding a dust of cheese and other spices on top.

After I have all the buns shaped and prepped properly, I place them into the oven, and prepare to run back up to my daughter’s room to wake her. 

My haste unfortunately left a layer of flour on my shirt, as I completely disregarded my apron, but I don’t care at this point. Surely Katniss won’t mind, especially when Willow and I present her with her gifts. She’s plenty used to this being a normal part of my attire anyway.

I have to remind myself to be quiet as I ascend the stairs, and ease myself into Willow’s bedroom. She’s still asleep, but doesn’t look quite as wrapped up in slumber as Katniss did. Sure enough, walking towards her bed is enough to rouse her, and the second we lock eyes she smiles.

“Birthday?” she whispers with a cheeky grin.

“Birthday,” I confirm with a light laugh, smoothing my daughter’s hair as I finally reach her side.

“Is my flower safe, Daddy?”

“Yes it’s safe. And speaking of flowers, would you like to help me do one last thing for Mommy?”

Willow’s eyes widen, and she nods excitedly, which only causes my grin to grow warmer.

“Well come on, pumpkin, let’s go,” I say, picking her up and hoisting her over my shoulders.

She squeals and laughs, her small hands batting against my head, and I rub her foot gently.

“You have to promise to be quiet, though. We don’t want to wake Mommy up yet. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah, Daddy.”

“Thank you.” And with that, I’m walking down the stairs with Willow riding on my shoulders. Using care to quietly open the front door, I slip outside into the crisp, dawn air, intaking the sweet scent of the morning.

Willow must know that there’s no threat of waking Katniss out here, because she speaks to me in a louder, more shrill toddler voice.

“Why we out here, Daddy?”

I chuckle, bending down and setting her off my shoulders, before grasping her hand and leading her around the side of the house. There, in the soil, are bundles and bundles of flowering, yellow blooms.

“My flower!” she gasps with a toothy grin, and I laugh.

“That’s right. Primroses, sweetie. I was thinking we could pick a few for her. It goes right along with our paintings after all.”

Willow ponders this for a moment, before nodding and grasping one of the flowers at its base.

“Okay!”

We begin pulling a few flowers up from the soil at the bases of their stems. I hold the growing bundle, while Willow hands the flowers to me as she goes. When we have a good enough number, we had back inside.

By now, the sun has already begun to peak over the horizon, and I know it won’t be long before Katniss is up; I wouldn’t be surprised if she already is.

We head into the kitchen, and I give Willow her painting to hold, before taking the cheese buns out of the oven. The smell wafts through the air immediately, and I figure that will attract my wife’s presence before anything.

So I hurry, quickly placing my finished painting on the table, and the freshly picked primroses into a vase. I set the table for three, and have just enough time to set the last glass down before the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs is audible.

Willow gives me another cheesy little smile, holding her painting and bouncing on her feet. I return her enthusiastic expression, knowing that this will please Katniss in one way or another. She deserves it, though she denies that fact. She deserves the world.

“Peeta?”

Her soft, sleepy voice echos from the hallway, and I feel my heart flutter at its sound.

“In here, Katniss.”

And with that, she pokes her head into the kitchen, her grey eyes locking with mine before settling across the scene we’ve prepared for her.

My heart does multiple flips at her reaction.

Her mouth falls agape slightly first, her gaze combing over the paintings and the cheesebuns. And then the tears begin to well up in her eyes, her hand traveling up to cup her mouth as she strains to keep her composure.

She sniffs once, before making eye contact with me once more. And the appreciation and love in her stare is enough to make me go weak in the knees. I’m about to advance towards her, but Willow beats me to it.

“Happy birthday, Mommy!” she shrieks, giggling as she leans the painting down against the cabinet, and moves forward to wrap her arms around Katniss’ legs.

Katniss lets out a choking laugh, a few stray tears running down her cheeks, before she kneels down to be at eye level with our daughter.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you,” she murmurs, kissing Willow’s face multiple times and drawing more laughs from the toddler, “Did you…paint that for me?”

“Oh!” Willow gasps, releasing her mother and hobbling back over to the painting, grasping it with both hands like she had forgotten about it momentarily, “I did! Daddy taught me.”

Willow grins proudly as Katniss looks the painting over, and the warm smile poised on my wife’s face makes my heart flutter.

“It’s beautiful, Willow. Thank you. I love it, and I love you.”

“I love you too, Mommy,” Willow replies, leaning the painting up again and throwing her little hands around her mother’s neck, giving her a tight embrace.

Katniss returns the hug, tears beginning to flow freely down her cheeks again, and when she releases our daughter, she stands up to meet my eyes.

I take this as a cue to move towards my wife, but she rushes to me first. And surprises me by crushing her lips to mine.

Willow lets out a shriek, which causes me to smile through the kiss, but I deepen it, allowing my fingers to twirl Katniss’ long, wavy strands of dark hair.

She sighs against me, her tongue flicking against my lips and begging me for access. And I would have allowed it, had our toddler not screamed.

“Daddy, Mommy; that’s  _gross_!”

I chuckle, and break the contact, but just enough so my forehead is still leaned up against hers. Her glassy, smokey grey eyes search mine, before she finally whispers to me.

"You didn’t have to do all of this.”

“But I did,” I reply warmly, pressing my lips to her nose before continuing, “It’s the least I could do to thank you for the extraordinary life you’ve given me.”

This sends a few tears down her cheeks, and I gently wipe them away with my thumbs.

“I love you, Katniss. You mean the world to me.”

“I love you,” she whispers, before heaving a breath, “But I don’t deserve this.”

“You deserve everything and more,” I softly say in return without a moment’s hesitation.

Again, my wife’s lip trembles, but she smiles through her tears, a sight that warms my very soul.

“You’re my everything,” she says in a barely audible voice, “Both of you.”

I simply beam at her, holding her tightly in my arms and not wanting to let go. I couldn’t have even dreamed for this moment, but here I am.

Standing in the kitchen with the woman of my absolute affections, whispering tender words back and forth. And our daughter by our side, our child. A piece of both of us.

“Can we eat now?”

Willow’s sudden, pleading tone draws a laugh from both Katniss and I, and I release my wife for the time being.

“I had the same thought pressing in the back of my mind,” Katniss chuckles, and with that, we all laugh, and begin to share our breakfast as a happy, pure, wonderful family.


End file.
